


a fire that can light the way

by algae_dad



Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Autistic Baby, Baby in dresses, Baby-centric, Background Relationships, Buddy and Darling are better than him, Canon Disabled Character, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Darling lives, Deaf Character, Dissociation, Doc is an asshole, Epilepsy, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Repressed Memories, Seizures, Underage Drinking, and i kinda escalated, buddy and darling have morals, joe shows up later to set everyone straight, possible nonbinary baby, this started as an epileptic baby fic, why aint this fandom got more fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/algae_dad/pseuds/algae_dad
Summary: Choose the I-Pod. Choose the playlist. Grab some sunglasses, say goodbye to Joe, take your pill-Baby forgets one step in his pre-heist routine, and everything else he considers routine in his life falls away with it.or; After a seizure during a heist, and all of his other carefully-kept secrets coming to light, Baby is forcibly rescued by a pair of well-meaning career criminals.





	1. living in the dark so long

The heist was, for all intents and purposes, a simple one. Every part of it was something routine to Baby: bank, guns, money, drive. It should have been clean and easy.

Except. Joe’d had an appointment that night before, except Baby had stayed up worrying about Joe, except Baby had forgot to set his alarm; he had run out the door grabbing a random iPod (red. devil themed songs) and barely remembering shades.

He drops off the team: Darling and Buddy (they refuse to work separate) and a new addition to the field team, Momma. Momma has been working grudgingly with Doc for years and is cold and quiet with everyone except Baby. She towers over him but is calm and nice, has even let loose a couple times when Baby is the only one sticking around as she analyzes data. Her voice will go deep and she'll blush or she'll let out an un-ladylike laugh or she'll forget to shave her face, but Baby doesn't mind. He asks gentle questions and eventually borrows a dress or two to try himself (Doc doesn't let him keep them, and instead buys him his own in his proper size. Baby never touches those)

He drops off the team, and realizes another except: he forgot his meds. Baby takes a pill every morning, except he doesn't, and he sits bouncing his leg anxiously to Blue Öyster Cult as he tries to grapple with the knowledge that he's fucked over the heist for everyone. Today will be bad too, because he's suddenly gone from the beginning of the chorus to the end of it. Loss of time. Absence seizure. If it hadn't been for his obsession with listening to music Baby might not even know he has them. Now it just serves as a reminder that he might get everyone killed. Great.

He makes it through  _ The Reaper _ and the opening drumline of  _ Sinnerman _ creeps through his earbuds as the crew runs back to the car. Baby barely waits for them to get in before he's driving, letting the beat guide him and trying not to notice that he hasn't quite timed it right because honestly, that's the least of his problems. He's praying that if he goes as fast as he can, doesn't pull some of his normal tricks, he can get them back to the switch car before he drops. The lord must have already anticipated this prayer because Momma is here, intercepting red lights and feeding false traffic information as he presses heavy on the gas. Nina Simone's belting barely cuts through the ringing and his blood pumping through his ears, but it's enough. It has to be enough.

_ Stress is the most common trigger of seizures _ a small voice, something that could have come out of Joe's mouth if he knew Joe's spoken voice, plays in his head but honestly, he has enough to listen to right now. He takes a turn too late, scraping against a curb, but ignores the angry shouts from the back seat. A cop snags their back bumper. They're only a mile or two from the switch, he has to lose them soon.

“Baby, what the  _ fuck _ are you playing at?” Buddy yells sharply as he shoots out the tires of a car Baby normally would have left well in the dust.

He swerves again, this time jarring the passengers on purpose, but throws in a quiet “shut up” for good measure. Him speaking is enough to shock the three quiet, and with a few traffic cam hoaxes from Momma they're able to pull into the garage relatively unharmed. 

Baby can already taste copper on his tongue and doesn't have the coordination left for removing his ‘disguise’; he bats the sunglasses off his face and calls it good, sliding into the back seat. Or he would be, if Buddy wasn't blocking the back door of the sedan he was trying to get into.

“Alright, Baby, what's going on? You tryna throw this?” The man doesn't sound angry as much as adrenaline-drained, and on some level Baby recognizes that he had enjoyed the extra edge. 

Baby opens his mouth to respond, and doesn't, because he really doesn't fucking have time for this. None of them do. Thankfully, both Darling and Momma say as much, and Momma, now in her more typical bulky blue box braids, climbs into the driver’s seat. Buddy moves out of the way with a huff to get to shotgun, and Baby falls into the back.

A seatbelt would do him more harm than good at this point, and it's not like Darling sitting next to him has bothered to put one on either. The car isn't ideal for this, but he's honestly been in much worse places with much less warning. Momma starts driving, bickering with the still-heated Buddy. Baby turns to Darling, and he must look as utterly fucked as he feels because her eyes immediately soften

“You know my Buddy didn't mean it, he jus-”

“Seizure. Don't touch my mouth, keep my head free.” His voice is surprisingly calm as he cuts her off, and he's just gone enough at that point that he doesn't see her eyes widen before he's out.

\--

Baby speaks for the second time ever, and then suddenly he's passed out next to her in the car.

“Shit! Buddy,” she calls up to him, “stop whatever bullshit you're bugging Momma with and come help me. Baby just passed out.” Darling punctuates this by pulling the young man (God, he can't be older than 18) into her lap.

“Fuck, really?” Buddy turns to look in the backseat and yep, the person who was driving them all seconds ago is now dead to the world. “Do you know what's happening?”

Darling shakes her head, “No, he said something about a-”

“-Seizure,” Momma cuts her off, “he has epilepsy. Honestly, you'd think Doc would brief everyone.”

The couple is left gaping at her like dead fish. “How the fuck do you know then?” Buddy grinds out, unbuckling his seatbelt to get in back with his Darling.

Momma throws him a look like he's just asked if the Earth's round, “I talk with him. I swear, just because he don't prefer talking out loud don't mean he's antisocial. Whatever; he's prolly gonna actually start seizing soon so Darlin’ get him outta your lap and lay him down flat on the seat back there, I'll try to drive slow.”

Darling and Buddy don't have time to protest at being ordered around before the twitching starts. Within seconds, Baby's whole body is arrythmically jerking, and Darling goes against her instinct to hold him still and gets on the carpeted flooring over the car instead and ushers Buddy to follow. She can't help but reach out a soothing hand to stroke through his hair as he seizes, and a low humming tells her that Buddy feels the same. They may not be Momma, but right now all they wanna do is take care of their Baby.

“How long’ll he be like this?” Buddy asks after a few beats, running a hand up and down Baby’s shaking leg.

Momma chances a look in the backseat as she takes a right turn faster than she should, “Could be a minute more, but shouldn't be longer than that. Baby says his are normally on the short side, so should be soon.” Her voice is steady but her knuckles are white around the wheel. It feels like years, decades maybe that they wait for him to stop seizing, but it can't be more than thirty seconds of anxious waiting before his movements slow. His breathing evens out from the hitched gasps it was during the seizure, and if they didn't all known what just happened they could have mistaken it for a nap.

On Momma’s instruction, Buddy rolls Baby onto his side in case he vomits, but he doesn't. Instead, the movement rouses the young man enough and he starts making controlled movements of his hands. Darling and Buddy stare at him in confusion, and he seems to realize what he's doing and his hands stop.

“W-wha happen,” he slurs, after opening and closing his mouth for a while. Buddy could kiss him, he's so relieved to hear the kid speak, and Darling does, a quick peck on the cheek. 

She then huffs out a relieved laugh, “You had a seizure, Baby. Scared us all shittless.” Once it sinks in what she said, Baby's eyes widen, and he tries to speak again, but Darling understands what he's worried about, “It's no sweat Baby, you weren't driving. You even told me what was happening.” He relaxes back into the seats at that.

“Just get some rest, Baby,” Momma calls back, “we'll get you back to Doc soon.” He does what he's told, closing his eyes, but Buddy and Darling both catch his flinch at his boss’ name. They share a look; they're not gonna let that go unanswered.

The drive ends in minutes, and Buddy doesn't hesitate to scoop Baby into his arms. Baby tries to resist, but coherent thought or movement age both too difficult in his post-ictal stage. Knowing the married couple is too busy mother-henning the driver, Momma grabs the cash and remaining gear. She's worried about him, too, but knows from experience that being crowded after a major medical event is more hurt than help.

Baby gets bits and pieces of the journey back to the planning room; an argument about coffee, Buddy hitting his foot against a doorframe, and Doc's annoyed tone turning to understanding and concern. “How long? Did he hurt himself?” 

Momma is quick to answer, “A minute, and he was safe in the car. The only hitch was the seizure itself.” Baby's focus tunes back out at this point in favor of trying to sleep and not get a migraine. Thankfully, his hearing makes tuning them out pretty easy, and it only takes moments for him to slip back into unconsciousness.

Doc turns to address the whole crew, “Alright; I want to thank you all for getting my driver back in one piece, now take your cuts and get out.” Momma and Darling agree willingly enough, sending their last concerned looks to Baby before sitting and waiting for Doc to count up the cash, but Buddy hesitates. That flinch in the car had made him think, remembering other looks between the two, and just how young Baby was when he started. He shakes it off and sits too, but whispers to Darling to pay attention.

“Believe me, Buddy,” she whispers back, voice sickly sweet and full of venom, “Darlin’ always watches her babies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah, this started bc i heard that in the original script/plan baby was epileptic but then That Fucker got called out and i really needed to get something positive out of it. next chapter is already written and things Kick Off  
> title and chapter titles are all from pressure pills by mikky ekko


	2. who's lies you believe in, boy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: frank discussions of rape, abuse, and victim blaming. Non-graphic character death

Baby is put off heists for a while, Doc insisting he needs to learn to take care of himself before he can trust him with the team again. Baby's just thankful that he didn't dock his pay or insist on ‘checkups’ like the last time. At one time Baby had looked up to Doc, idolized him even, but now the relationship is strained at best. He doesn't even try to argue as Joe rants about ‘that evil bastard’, simply makes him his meals and sits with him at the TV, and makes sure Joe gets his meds the same as he takes his own.

(Maybe Baby misses the concerned looks from Joe, forgets the days when he'd act like this before, back when Joe wasn't wheelchair bound for large hours of the day and Baby would be given ‘breaks’ by Doc. When Baby’s teenage movements were stiff and he’d wince at sitting down. But Joe remembers, and he prays with signs he rarely uses that the Lord or whoever’s up there will keep his Baby safe.)

It's a Sunday when he's called to work again, and he's taken his pill and all is good. It's a dark blue iPod heist, melancholy music filled with angry guitars, and Baby doesn't really get why this is the mood he's in. Yeah, he hasn't been given a break this long in a while, but Doc was worried about the seizure. Sometimes his thoughts stray back to those longer breaks, when he was younger. This was better. Doc is better, so why's there this rage bubblin in his chest, with a good amount of fear to keep it company? Baby doesn't know, so he ignores it.

Darling and Buddy are back, along with two women he didn't quite catch the name of. The cold weather has always messed with his inner ear damage, but right now he doesn't have the heart to go guessing at what's actually being said. They're weapons experts, the redhead is chemicals and the dip-dyed blonde is explosives. Both of them seem kinda off, but Baby's used to that, and besides; he doesn't have to trust them, he just has to drive. But the married couple is making him confused, and that only adds to his anxiety. In the few heists he's worked with them, they've been sarcastic but decent enough. Pleasant, even. Today Buddy keeps throwing him not-so-subtle looks of concern, and Darling's been even more touchy-feely than usual.

Honestly, if they had some sort of issue after the seizure, why'd they take the job? Baby pushes this issue away as well, turning up his music and focussing on the game plan.

“... nasal problem, so we have access to the back entrance. Baby’ll be waiting by the side to pick you up when you're done. Any questions?”

Darling’s gum popping is the only answer, and Doc lets out a pleased sigh, “Good to hear. This one is a simple one, but time is of the essence. Move out in twenty.” Everyone shuffles off at this, and Doc walks over to Baby's table, putting a hand on his shoulder that Baby wants so badly to shrug off.

“It's good to see you back, Baby, you're definitely looking healthy.” He drags the last word and Baby has to swallow his response to that. That of course he looks healthy since he's been away from you. He simply nods, and Doc pats his shoulder again before walking off.

Baby slips off the jacket Doc had touched and turns up his volume another notch, trying to calm down. The last thing he needs right now is to trigger a seizure because he's scared of the boogeyman. He scans the room to see Darling subtly looking away from him and Buddy less so. Frustrated, Baby looks away. He just wants to get this heist over with.

He gets his wish; the heist is fast, with the women he can now tell are a couple having brought some kind of gas bomb that put all attendees out. The blonde drags her girlfriend to one of the transfer cars, her pink and blue dyed hair back in its signature pigtails. This leaves Baby with Buddy and Darling, and he's honestly thankful; the married couple rarely tries to drag him into conversation, and with them in the front seat he won't have to deal with their stares.

Baby hesitates before returning to the briefing room with the coffees, contemplates leaving. It's been forever since Doc has done more than crowd him or give him gifts but something seems different, as if the break has reawakened the old relationship. He shakes off these thoughts and walks in, because no misgiving is worth risking paying off his debt to the man. Darling watches him carefully as he sits down, purposefully taking the seat with the most difficult path from Doc, and he sees something akin to recognition in her eyes. Baby doesn't register much of the debriefing before they're all crowded into the elevator. The ‘Sirens’ get off first, hands in each others back pockets, but when they get to Buddy and Darling's typical floor, neither of them step out.

“We thought we'd walk you out today,” Buddy says, his tone not even close to casual. Darling punctuates him with a pop of her gum, and despite how kid-like the action is when Baby looks at her in confusion he is confronted with a world-weary grin.

Doc scoffs at the display, “Whatever, I knew hiring batshit criminals would have some side effects. Come down to the car park, see if I care.” While he's better at faking it, Doc is showing some tension of his own. Baby just wants to get this over with, get home to Joe, and do enough chores that he'll pass out without too many dreams.

Baby is the first one out into the garage but he can feel Doc breathing down his neck. The closer they get to the drop off car, the tighter Doc’s hand gets on his shoulder, and the louder Buddy and Darling's steps sound.

“Alright, show’s over: I'm just driving Baby home, you two can go fuck on a pile of money or do lines off each others asses.” But Buddy just shakes his head, and Darling steps closer to him.

“See, Doc,” Darling's voice is cherry sweet, “we would be fucking on our cash, but something's got me awful confused and I just can't even get wet,” Baby flinches at the obscene talk despite himself,but Darling and her Buddy notice, and her voice steels, “I've been wondering: why does our driver need someone to drive him after every job?”

Before Doc can answer, Buddy joins in, “I know at the beginning you were doin it cause the kid wasn't legal, but now I'm sure if Baby wanted to, he could drive himself. Which got me and my Darling to thinking,” They both step closer, and Doc's grip on Baby's shoulder is painfully tight, “maybe it ain't a ride home you're after.”

Baby's stunned. Had they really been paying this close of attention? 

Doc's hand slips from his shoulder as he steps to meet Buddy and Darling, and even with the confrontation building Baby feels like he can breathe again, gratefully taking a step back himself.

“Listen, you chuckle fucks, I'm sure this double-teaming thing gets the toddlers you rob really scared, but you cannot. Fuck with me. Baby's just as free to be here as you-”

“Cut the bullshit!” Darling cuts in, grabbing the knife from her thigh holster, “What is it, does he owe you money? You can't be that desperate for the kid cause he's good at driving, most people choose actual adults for that… Oh fuck,  _ fuck! _ ” Her eyes blow wide and she raises her hands to her hair, cursing. “That's it, isn't? God, you  _ fucked _ him?”

Buddy looks shocked for all of two seconds before he's pulled out his own weapon, and Doc scoffs in the face of the gun barrel staring him down the eyes.

“I don't know what weird roleplay you're into, but I'm not some pedophile, I didn't fuck-”

“No,” Buddy cuts him off, and Darling backs it up by pressing her knife to his throat, “I want to hear it from Baby. Did this fucker touch you?”

Baby's blood runs cold as he scrambles backwards, hitting the trunk of the car. He's about to shake his head, but his reaction was answer enough.

A shot rings out as the sickening sound of a knife cutting meat echos through the parking garage. “There's one thing I hate more than people looking at me funny, and that's a fucking rapist.” Darling punctuates this by throwing her knife down into Doc's lifeless crotch. Buddy goes to comfort her, do  _ something _ , but thinks better of it and instead yanks out the knife. He wipes it off on his jeans before flipping it and handing it handle-first to her. Baby's gonna vomit.

There are hands on his shoulders, thinner and darker than Doc's, and if he could hear he’d recognize the low spanish accent, but right now the blood and the ringing are doing more than enough to drown out his surroundings. 

Doc's dead. Baby doesn't owe Doc. No one knows about the debt. No one knew about the nights Baby's spent years trying to forget and every night remembering, but now two people know.

Two people who just killed Doc. God, Doc is  _ dead- _

He feels his own neck click as his head rolls back, and he's out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ya love it when ao3 crashes??? things may be Heating Up but don't worry it'll devolve into a h/c mess shortly. looking forward to nail painting and joe, the World's Best Dad


	3. wash it down, don't panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings for blunt discussion of rape and abuse, drinking, and canon-typical disregard for reasonable health concerns

Darling and Buddy are a little fucked. They just killed their crime syndicate-running boss because he'd been fucking a kid, and now said kid is having a seizure next to Doc's dead body which could have been his dead body too if Buddy hadn't caught Baby's head before he hit the ground. So, a little fucked, but that's right where Darling thrives. She instructs Buddy to put Baby in the backseat of the car that used to be Doc's and then tells him to deepsix the truck from the heist with the body-that-used-to-be-Doc’s-but-now-is-another-dead-rapist, while she takes Baby home. Buddy is reluctant to leave her but relents when Baby is already stirring and panicking at his presence. He doesn't blame the kid, and the least he can do is get the scum cleaned up for him.

Not knowing where the hell the kid lives, Darling is driving him to hers and Buddy's penthouse. Not that she would have driven Baby to his house anyways, because who knows what weird sex dungeon Doc had him holed up in. She's met (and killed) plenty of men like Doc, and she's been close with their victims too, but this is  _ Baby _ . Secretly sarcastic, music loving,  _ Rain Man _ for driving Baby, the weird kid she's known since he first started high school. God, she knows Doc has worked with him since before he could see over the steering wheel, has he been abusing the kid the whole fucking time?

A groan from the backseat snaps her out of it. “Baby? You just had a seizure honey, I'm taking you to our penthouse suite, so you just-”

“Why'd you kill him?” His voice rips through his throat, the muscles in his neck stiff and unwilling.

Darling's taken aback for all of two seconds before she sighs. Part of her bitterly thinks Baby should be smarter than this, but she reminds herself that intelligence kinda means nothing when someone's been grooming you your whole fucking life.

“We killed him because he abused you,” Baby makes a noise of protest but she cuts him off, “no, even if he didn't rape you, which I think we both know he did, he kept you dependent on him for money, forced you into organized crime and threatened to kill you on multiple occasions. That's abuse, kid.” She waits for that to sink in before continuing, “Though honestly, we'd been tossing around the idea of killing him regardless. His heists may be streamlined but they're kind of ridiculously easy to track; your driving is probably the only reason we haven't been found out. And he was a bigoted asshole.”

Baby is quiet, because what is he supposed to do with that? She so matter-of-factly put into words what had been his life for the past ten years, somehow made it obvious that Doc was in the wrong when Baby had been struggling with that the whole time. Even if he wasn't post-ictal this whole thing would be giving him a migraine.

“So… Why are you taking me to your… place? Why didn't you just leave me there?” He says after a while, looking at her reflection in the mirror as he waits for her to speak.

“Honestly, kid?” she sighs, “I don't really know. Maybe it's my latent maternal instincts, or Buddy feeling guilty about his kids, but whatever the reason, we care about you. What Doc did was fucked, and as much as I wanna believe killing him made it all better, I know from experience that that shit es pegajoso; it sticks. We're not like… kidnapping you, you're free to leave, we're just… Giving you another option, I guess?” Baby could almost laugh at how uncertain Darling is, except he's infinitely more confused and wary.

He doesn't speak up again for the rest of the ride, except to ask her to put the radio on which she does almost too quickly. She flicks it to a station playing Queen and smiles tentatively in the mirror at him, and he responds with a grin. All this shit happening, and she still remembers such a small moment between her husband and the guy she's… protecting?

When they get there, a man Baby doesn't recognize takes the car to park it for them. A valet. Is this what Baby could have afforded if he wasn't paying back Doc? If every bit of money he did get to keep felt too dirty to use, to even see. The amount of floors they go up in the elevator is too nauseatingly high for him to keep track, and then Darling is leading him inside.

He sits nervously as she bustles around the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? I know I can use some after that.” She's holding out a bottle with something pink in it. Wine maybe, or a flavored drink. Honestly, he's more than tempted to take half the bottle down in one gulp, anything to forget what happened, but-

“I can’t, I'm only twenty.” Darling almost drops the bottle.

“No, fuck, you gotta be older than that.” He shakes his head, and for a moment she looks like she's gonna go on a rant about how unfair it all is, about how she wishes she could kill Doc again, but instead she unscrews the bottle in her hand and takes a long swig. She swallows, before handing it to him. “You've been involved in a crime syndicate for most of your life, and you just witnessed a murder. I think you can engage in some underage drinking.”

Baby takes a look at the bottle, thinks about his life, and takes a sip. Then takes another.

\--

When Buddy steps into the penthouse, the first thing he hears is giggling. Not Darling's fake giggles or her true snorting laugh but real, honest-to-God giggling. It sounds like someone snuck a little boy onto the floor and was tickling him senseless (which honestly, at this point, he wouldn't put past his Darling).

He drops his bag as quietly as he can before walking to the living room, and he has to take a moment to process what he sees when he gets there. It's Baby, sitting cross-legged on the floor while Darling paints his nails. Baby is red-faced drunk, his hair pushed back with a floral headband, humming and laughing as Darling chastises him.

“Honestly, Baby, if you don't keep your hands still I'm gonna summon my Abuelita’s spirit to bind you.”

Baby snorts at this, “I-It's not my fault signing requires hands!”

Darling is smiling as she scolds him, “Yes, but it is your fault that you're trying to teach me sign language while I paint your nails. Just wait until I do your makeup, then you can wiggle to your heart's desire.” Buddy chooses now to announce his presence, clearing his throat. He doesn't miss Baby's immediate tensing, and the wild fear in the kid’s eyes as he turns to see him, nor does he miss how he moves to cover his decorated hands almost subconsciously.

“You'd better listen to her, Baby,” he says lightly, moving to sit across the room, “you don't wanna be on her bad side while she's wielding a mascara wand.” He pretends to ignore them after that in favor of skimming a mechanics book, but he carefully observes Baby's sigh of relief and his genuine excitement when Darling suggests that if he's good she'll let him try on some dresses. After that he does zone out though; whatever makes the kid happy.

It may be the alcohol in his blood, but Baby finds the panic at Buddy entering leaves as quickly as it came, and he focuses on the warm feeling in his chest as Darling applies the top coat on his purple-grey nails and starts moisturizing his face. Darling starts saying something as she looks down, sorting through her makeup bag.

“Sorry, could you, could you face me when you talk? I'm mostly lip reading here.” He can feel his slight drawl thickening with his drunkenness but he honestly can't be made to care. He does care when Darling looks up at him with a shock-tinged face.

“Wait, Baby; are you deaf?”

He really can't help but laugh at that, “Was the ASL as a first language not a hint? Y-yeah, I've been deaf since the accident. I still have residual hearing, but that's a-actually pretty common.” Baby stops himself from rambling too much about his Deafness, but only barely. It's one of the few parts of him he can say he's proud of without any guilt; Joe made sure of that. 

Buddy snorts at Baby's blunt response, and Darling makes sure he can see her lips so that she could cuss him out. Buddy is just revelling in how  talkative and coherent Baby is with at least half a bottle strawberry vodka in him when the kid goes stiff and falls to the floor. Being surrounded by pillows and flowing floral skirts, Buddy knows the kid will be fine if he starts seizing, but as the two thieves watch their charge, he doesn't move more than to breathe deeply. Darling crawls over to him and nudges him enough that he rolls on his side, and after a few seconds the kid's muscles relax and his breathing gets deeper.

“Aw, shit,” Buddy huffs out and pushes himself out of the chair, “alcohol probably wasn't the best mix with whatever meds he's on.” He reaches out to shake Baby awake, but Darling stops him.

“Let him sleep, Buddy: drug-induced or not, he deserves the rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof i know it's been thirty thousand years but. im a lazy bitch? this was literally sitting mostly complete for months i just didn't want to do anything, senioritis I guess  
> i know anyone w any seizure/medical experience is cringing at them not waking up baby/checking on him/getting him seen by a medical professional but he's fine, im taking canon-typical liberties with the durability of the human body, and in this he's just on lamotrigine cause that's the only one of my sister's meds I can remember haha.  
> i don't know when ill update this cause I'm kinda unsure where to go w it, I def want Joe to show up soon but outside of that idk. as always comments cure my depression thank u


	4. a little kid asking for forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for mentions of violence and canon-typical language about mental health

Baby wakes up with a pounding ache in his head. That’s not unusual, of course; the tinnitus makes sure of that. What is unusual is absolutely everything else: there's brightly patterned silk under his head and ridiculously plush carpet under the rest of him, and a steady vibration is coming from his pants pocket. He blearily pats around until he manages to slide his hand in and retrieve his phone, only to have his headache reach ice-pick status at his flashing light alert.  _ Hangover _ , his muddled brain supplies, and that's enough for him to remember all the reasons why he's currently on the floor of a penthouse apartment.

Taking more effort than he really needs he sits up, squinting his eyes at the phone in his hand. The caller ID screams  _ JOE _ , displaying a motion-blurred picture of the man in question flipping off the camera. Baby wearily sighs and briefly considers flinging the phone (or himself) off the balcony,before resigning himself to his fate and accepting the Face Time.

‘ _ You think I bought you this phone so you could ignore my calls? Where the  _ **_hell_ ** _ have you been?’  _

Baby physically cringes back at the force of Joe’s signs. An abled person might take one look at Joe's wheelchair and write him off as harmless, but Baby knows that nothing and no one can stop him when he's angry.

He makes halfway through rubbing his fist in ‘sorry’ before Joe’s yelling again, ‘ _ Don't even tell me, I know where you've been; I've half a mind to whoop that Doc man myself.’ _

Reality hits Baby like a suckerpunch to the chest, and he can't help but let his grief show as he half-heartedly signs, ‘ _ A bit late for that, someone beat you to it.’  _ Baby's face is enough to still Joe's hands,and he chooses his next words carefully. Joe only sees that look after a heist gone bad (as if Joe doesn't know what his boy is doing), or in the early days after the accident whenever Baby thought he wasn't looking. 

_ ‘Who died?’ _ he signs, and the question hangs in the air. Joe readies himself to see a name sign he doesn't know, a sign that's probably only been used by Baby himself to refer to one of the few kind people he's met in his ‘work’, readies himself to see as it's used for the last time.

What he doesn't prepare for is Baby raising a shaking ‘d’ in the motion of ‘carrot’; this, their half-joking sign for Doc is all he manages before his face crumples and tears overtake him.

Baby doesn't know why he's crying; the shock of what happened, grief for the good man Doc could sometimes be, or the unbelievable relief that he is no longer under his control (and the sinking fear that comes with it). He doesn't know, and he doesn't care. He just gives in, crying to the only man that deserves to be called his father over the death of the man who made him call him that. Crying within minutes of waking up isn't something Baby makes a habit of, but he forgives himself given the circumstances.

It's this, the scene of a sleep-tousled Baby crying into a phone, that Buddy walks into. He goes to ask who he's talking to with the heavy implication that he'll hurt whoever made him cry before he remembers what the kid said last night (or morning, technically, but Buddy's never focussed much on technicalities unless they keep him out of jail). So instead of yelling out to someone who can't hear him, he walks until he's in front of him and chalks the flinch he receives up to being caught in a compromised state.

“What's the damage, kid? Who's on the phone?” Buddy doesn't speak too loudly, his Darling likes to sleep in, but he makes sure his mouth is clear. Baby moves the hand not holding the phone-signs something-before responding.

“It's my dad, I'm—" he cuts himself off, staring into his phone and waves his hand like he's wiping something away before jabbing the thumb of his spread hand into his chest, then he's looking back at Buddy, “I'm just telling him what's been happening.” Baby's voice is thick from tears but he doesn't seem to notice, or at least acknowledge it, his voice as flat as ever.

For all appearances can tell, Buddy seems to be the only one uncomfortable with the crying, and this whole fucking situation, so he just says, “Alright then,” and walks to the kitchen. He knew Baby was young, but giving a tearful update to his father makes Buddy feel even more like they kidnapped a child. He tries to brush those thoughts away, thoughts about just how fucking young Baby was when he started working for Doc, how long everything… went on. He tries, and he distracts himself by making a hash of whatever hundred dollar leftovers are in the fridge; he's more successful making the food than he is plugging the flow of intrusive thoughts.

Baby, meanwhile, is trying to explain his temporary living situation to a more and more angry Joe.

_ ‘You tellin’ me you're staying with the psycho killer that got Doc and his even more batshit wife, and you want me  _ not _ to worry?’ _

_ ‘Buddy is good people, Joe, and so’s Darling.’  _ Baby almost regrets that choice of words. They're criminals, it would be dangerous to forget that, but even with all the shit they've done, he can't help but feel safe staying with them, and that's a rare feeling.  _ ‘They've always been kind to me, and as soon as they found out I was forced into the life they… made sure I could get out.” _

Joe scoffs,  _ ‘By killing someone. Boy, I don't care if they gave you—' _

“Jason, if you keep wakin’ me up with sweet smellin’ food like this, I'm gonna fuck you to death.” Darling calls out across the apartment, and for the first time Baby wishes he hadn't developed the instinct to turn to whoever speaks, if only so that he didn't have to hear that.

She siddles over to him, noting the tear tracks but not commenting, “Hey Baby, is that Joe?” Baby nods in the affirmative, wondering not for the first time how much he talked about when he was drunk last night. “Awesome, can I talk to him?”

He frowns, signing and speaking, “He's Deaf. No residual hearing, makes lip-reading even more impossible.”

She rolls her eyes, “I know, you told me last night how angry he gets when someone suggests he lip read. But if you could translate, Baby, I'd much appreciate gettin’ to talk to the man who raised such a cute Georgia peach.” He can't help but blush at that, especially with her hand resting on his shoulder, so he nods. 

Their conversation is, all things considered, surprisingly civil. Joe wants to take a taxi to come and collect Baby, to which Darling replies, “Hell nah, I don't even want to guess how nasty most of the taxis in this city are; we’ll send a car over for you.” At some point they're laughing together over a story of Baby accidentally signing ‘masturbate’ instead of ‘work’ when asking for help in school, so as mortified as he is Baby guesses the talk is successful.

“Okay, we're going to eat Breakfast—don't worry, Buddy isn't poisoning us, unless you call burnt toast poison—but I look forward to meeting you today! Adios!”

After the farewells, Buddy walks out of the kitchen, “Who are we meeting? Also, there's hash.”

“Baby's dad, Joe, and thank you honey.” Darling responds easily, walking towards food and coffee while Buddy and Baby share wide-eyed looks.

Baby breaks eye-contact and clears his throat, “So. Breakfast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha im so nice updating after over a month with a shorter chapter than any of the others. I would have made it longer but I wanna post it before im hated. in my defence I graduated high school and college at the same time and have had like three breakdowns so 
> 
> anyways how do y'all want the meeting to go? do u want Joe to stay in the fic? please give me any and all feelings about this fic even if they're mean. as always, comments cure my depression
> 
> Edit: if ur reading this it means u actually check back on this fic which, wild. It's gonna take a lil while for the next update so have a little tidbit from this chapter to tide you over: when Baby is responding to Buddy and interrupts himself, the hand movements I described were him first dismissing Joe (who at that point is signing "who are you talking to you okay what's going on" cause he's a Worried Dad) and then the sign for 'fine', basically saying really quickly 'don't worry, I'm fine'. I took two ASL courses through a community college so I'm not fluent or even close, but I wish I was since I do go nonverbal occasionally and my auditory processing is Not Great (surprise I'm autistic that's why I know baby is 100% autistic)


	5. and you think of the end; you think of the

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: autistic meltdown, implied parental abuse, fragmented memories and a lot of self-doubt (also for the phrase "man in a woman's dress", used non-negatively)

The hash is good. To Baby, the potato, beans, rice and veggies all blend together in a sad mush, but there’s enough tobasco that he can taste it in his eyes. He hasn’t tasted anything in a while. It’s nice.

Eating breakfast (and the mild nausea it causes him) reminds Baby to take his meds; after missing his pill, both his neurologist and Joe had insisted he keep an emergency case on him. Or, his neurologist insisted, and Joe slipped the case into his pants pocket. Another side effect of the seizure a month ago is a new medication, this one aimed at reducing tonic clonic seizures like that one and drop attacks like the night (day?) before. So he pops his two pills and pretends not to notice the looks Buddy and Darling give him as he swallows. He hasn’t been participating much in the meal conversation, but with how standard that is to the rest of his interactions with the married couple they don’t seem to mind, instead arguing about some type of shoe (clogs, Crocs, or Docs; he couldn’t tell with just a few glances up between bites). Darling has turned out to be an avid fan of late 90’s-early 2000’s fashion, as Baby learned through his swimming session in just a small collection of her closet last night. 

“Baby! We need you to play Switzerland: are Crocs ugly or fashionable?” Buddy’s gruff voice surprises him, but while his face is a parody of gravely serious Baby can tell he's trying not to laugh. It's almost like the older man is… letting him in on the joke.

Darling looks at him eagerly, and Baby doesn't know what answer she's hoping for, just that she's got that kid-in-a-candy-store-that-her-father-just-bought grin on. Definitely letting him in on the joke. Baby makes a show of hemming and hawing before clearing his throat; “Both.”

He didn't quite manage to keep the question out of his voice but his answer is apparently enough for Darling, who jumps up and whoops loudly, crowing like a rooster.

“Ha! I told you those Balenciaga's were worth it!” She gloats over Buddy, before turning back to him, “Oh, you  _ have _ to see them Baby; they’re terrible,” crossing to his side of the table, she tugs playfully at his wrist until he stands, “and you can try on some dresses while we’re at it.” 

Even with someone dragging him by the arm, the grin that spreads on Baby’s face can only be described as dopey, his smile spreading even wider as he barely makes out Buddy’s grumble about ‘eight-hundred dollar ankle-breakers’. He lets himself be dragged to the master bedroom.

Fifteen minutes later, Baby is standing in front of a full-length mirror in an ankle-length black dress. Turning from side to side, he marvels at the way the sheer floral overlay spins up to the empire waist. He feels… feminine, yes, almost stereotypically dainty in the long-sleeved dress, but not womanly. The high waist adds shape to his otherwise straight body, but he doesn't look like a woman, or like a man wearing a woman's dress. He looks, tentatively, happy.

Darling walks back in from putting the Balenciaga platform shoes away and lets out a slow whistle as she takes him in from behind. “Damn, Baby, you look better in that than I ever did.”

He blushes and turns to face her, saying “Now I'm sure that's not true.”

“Cross my heart; I bought it off a runway so it’s way too tall for me, but on you it's perfect,” she punctuates her decree by popping her gum (seriously, he's starting to wonder if she just wills the stuff into existence) before grabbing his arm to drag him yet again,”Now lemme do your makeup and then we can go show Buddy.” He follows her lead, noting that this time she lets go as soon as he starts walking.

“Why’re you still callin’ each other your codenames?” Baby asks without thinking, his mind more on the wall of shoes they walk by on the way to the bathroom than whatever is coming out of his mouth. Darling's step falters for a little bit but she recovers quickly.

“Well, we figured it'd be easier to keep using the names you already know.” She says, before pulling a chair in front of her bathroom counter and pushing him into it.

He sits patiently as she pushes his hair back with a headband and starts prepping his face, wiping off the remnants of the previous night's experimenting. While she's turned, looking into her makeup kit, he speaks quietly, “It reminds me of Doc.”

For a terrifying moment, the only sound is of Darling ruffling through her makeup. She silently applies primer on his face, starting at his forehead. Once she gets to his chin, not looking at him but with her mouth visible, she says “Buddy’s name is Jason. I'm Monica.” and moves to the next step of the makeup.

“My name’s Miles.” 

\--

‘ _ Where's Miles?’ _

“I don't know sign language, but he's in the main room. The name’s Jason.” The career criminal steps out of Joe's path, debating and quickly retiring the idea of offering a hand to shake.

Joe fumbles in his pocket for a second once he's out of the doorway, pulling out his phone and typing quickly. His phone then reads out “You're the one who killed Doc.”

“Yes sir.” It wasn't a question, but Jason answers anyway. Joe doesn't respond, merely holds eye contact before nodding and finishing the journey to the living room. 

Baby jumps up at the sight of his foster father, fiddling nervously with the sleeves of his dress. Joe wheels close in front of him and flips his brake.

_ ‘They've been treatin’ you to nice clothes, at least,’  _ he signs after a moment, and that's all it takes for Miles to bend down and pull him into a fierce hug. Joe makes a noise of surprise before wrapping his arms around to meet him, patting his back with his slightly shaky hands. He presses  _ ‘I love you’ _ into the boy's back and feels Miles sob in response, a hitch in his breath and wetness forming where the younger man’s face meets his shoulder. Eventually, Joe moves his hands to Miles’ shoulders and pushes him back to see his face.

_ ‘You tell me what happened.’  _ He signs, and Miles instantly tenses.

“What’d he say B-Miles?” Darling asks, stepping closer from where she was waiting by the couch. Buddy moves from behind Joe, almost instinctively getting closer to his wife.

“H-he asked what happened. I-Joe,” Baby signs as he speaks, trying to find a way to sort through his jumbled memories of what happened. He doesn’t know where to start; where the start  _ is _ ; what Joe already knows (does Joe already know?). 

Darling, recognising his distress, steps more in Joe’s eyeline and speaks up, “If it helps, we can say what happened on our end?” Baby seems to deflate and nods his thanks, and after a small signed exchange, Joe agrees. Buddy and Darling take turns, starting with what they’d noticed in the years they’d worked with Baby and finishing off with the confrontation in the garage. 

“I—we—noticed how Baby, er, Miles was reacting to the conversation, and Monica,” Buddy motions to his wife next to him, not noticing the look Baby was throwing him as he continued, “asked if he’d been… abusing Miles. I asked Miles, and his reaction was severe enough that I knew it was the truth. So I shot him at the same time Monica slit his throat.” He clasps his hands in front of him once he’s finished, looking as confident about that decision as he feels. 

A shiver runs through Joe as he watches the hired gun, Jason. To have no remorse for the killing chills him in a way he can’t describe, and yet he can’t help but feel grateful that these crazy people protected his boy. Had he known where to find the man, Joe would have done the same. He’d only found out what Miles’ ‘tutoring sessions’ actually were two years ago thanks to an image on a news report. Miles hadn’t been identifiable in any definite way, but Joe recognized the carefully decorated I-Pod nano witnesses had described as one of the many his son keeps in his room. Joe knows if he went to the police to get help Miles would end up behind bars; it’s not like he could afford to get the boy a decent lawyer. So he tries to keep him on the right track. Had he known just how bad it’d been though…

Baby’s relief at Darling and Buddy taking over the conversation was short lived. They talked about moments, back from when he was in middle school and early into high school. Just small moments, flinches or weird looks, nothing to be concerned about on their own. Except they were concerning. Because Baby doesn’t  _ remember _ them. All he remembers from those years is feeling uncomfortable, getting mediocre grades, and spending too much time practicing his evasive maneuvers. He’d assumed that Doc had been keeping him off of jobs so he could shorten his escape times, but from what Buddy and Darling have said, he was working a job at least once a month. There’s a cold feeling running through his chest like ice water but his body feels hot and clammy. This doesn’t make  _ sense _ . Baby rocks on the balls of his feet, his hands instinctively spelling out lyrics,  _ ‘that’s why I’m easy, I’m easy like Sunday morning…’ _

_ ‘Miles? It’s okay, you’re okay. Doc isn’t here, your Pops isn’t here, it’s just your dad.’ _ Joe signs, repeating nearly everything to make sure it gets through to his son. He can hear what is probably talking, the criminal couple freaking out or asking what is happening, but he focuses on Miles. He recognizes this as a meltdown, most likely one triggered by anxiety more than overstimulation. Joe remembers these most from early in his care, any time Miles felt he would be punished for repeating movie quotes or flapping his hands. He doesn’t pressure him to respond, knowing the movements of his hands are doing just as much to calm him down as anything Joe can do, if not more. Eventually Miles opens his mouth, saying something for the benefit of the confused hearing couple.

“I-I’m alright. I’m alright.  _ What we've got here...is failure to communicate. _ ” Baby chooses the quote from a catalogue in his mind, trying to find something to convey that he wasn’t purposefully ignoring them and that there are things they don’t know.

He gets a snort from Jason and Joe, but out of the two Joe seems like the only one old enough to have caught the reference. “You got that right. You good?”

After an awkward beat Baby remembers to nod, and Darling instantly decides that her and her husband’s presence is doing more harm than good. “Why don’t you and Joe talk in the guest bedroom, Miles?” she asks gently, pointing to a door to the left of the entryway, and then nudging Buddy, “Me and this lug will go make some lunch.”

Buddy quickly catches on, “More like I'll make lunch while you sit on the counter and look pretty.”

“It's what I do best,” she replies with a jackal’s grin, and Joe gets the distinct impression she's used that misconception to help many people meet unkind fates. 

As the duo make for the kitchen, Joe taps Jason on the shoulder and mouths as clearly as he can while giving a short, recognizable sign:  _ ‘Thank you.” _

The hired gun doesn't ask what for, just nods, “If someone had done that to my kid…” and strides to catch up with his wife, the message clear

\--

The room is pristine, impersonal in a way completely unlike the colorful master bedroom, just an expanse of unfeeling white and unworn carpet. Baby sits on the edge of permanently made bed and waits. He knows who's supposed to start, he knows who's supposed to bare their soul and cry; he knows it's  _ him _ , he  _ knows _ he's the victim and yet he has… nothing. A collection of feelings, of pains and gaps and maybes, so much that it almost has to be  _ something _ . He has an almost-something, and he waits and asks himself if that's enough.

_ ‘What happened, Miles? What did Doc  _ do  _ to you?’ _ Joe finally asks, slow and caring as always, and that's enough, not for him to know but for him speak.

‘ _ I don't know!’  _ he stands up from the bed, suddenly too empty, all he can think is (God what if Doc had him in a bed and he didn't even  _ know _ ) and he's pacing, struggling to keep his hands from pulling his hair so he can sign,  _ ‘I know Doc was bad to me, I know he did some awful things, but the rest, I'm not, I'm not sure—’  _ He gives up on making full sentences, using the flexibility of his language to describe this in a way speaking can't. Two signs repeat themselves as he makes his internal conflict visible:  _ ‘feel’  _ and  _ ‘know’ _ . There is so much more he  _ feels _ has happened than what he knows: disgust at Doc, dread, a fear that makes him feel like he's in the back seat of a car with his white I-Pod again. The fantom fingers he felt on his thighs whenever Doc called him ‘Baby’. How he loves dresses but the ones Doc bought him were all too tight. He isn't even sure how it's all related,  _ if _ it's all related, just that if he doesn't get it out he might puke. He doesn't really finish, just signs  _ ‘feel’  _ again and again as if that explains it.

Baby stops when he sees tears in Joe's eyes. His foster father raises his hands, shaking more than their usual tremors, and asks simply,  _ ‘What do Jason and Monica think that he did?’ _ No judgement nor explanation, just connecting back to what they both know happened.

The signs alone make him feel dirty,  _ ‘They think he raped me.’ _

_ ‘And what does that feel like?’ _

_ ‘The truth.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand with that the journey is complete. if anyone thinks this ending was bad or confusing, that's the point. i've written a couple fics about this subject to help myself deal with my own emotions, but this chapter is the closest i've come to writing my experience. abuse is confusing and messy and memory is even more so. repression is an idea that brings up a lot of emotions because of the historical use of the idea in its infancy to gain notoriety by torturing women with false memories of abuse that caused real, lasting trauma, but repression in different forms does exist and is being studied further in dissociative disorders.  
> that was a lot of me defending myself for pretty obvious reasons. like baby in this, i don't have clear memories, just of sensations and emotional flashbacks, i also have a pretty big gap in my memory, though a bit younger, and i also have the knowledge that a person near me at that time was a Bad Dude that i now have a feeling of dread around. this shits messy and it sucks, but like baby will after this fic, you move on. you don't always get a neat resolution, you don't get to know what happened. in the end, all we are is what we feel, and sometimes that has to be enough.  
> thanks for reading  
> edit: id appreciate a comment just so I know people saw that this updated lmao


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